RecollectionThe Helgen Memorial
by Raiden4019
Summary: Years after defeating Alduin and having all sorts of adventures, the Dragonborn returns to the place where it all began, to pay his respects. As he moves through the ruined town, he reflects on his choices that he made in life. (Rated M for one gory scene, and swearing in the A/N)


**Summary: After years of fighting, the Dragonborn returns to the place where it all began, reflecting on his deeds and vices in life in the process.**

* * *

The sun shone through the green pine trees, creating a tapestry of shadows and beams of light. Though it was a discomfort to the rider on the red-eyed stallion, he paid it no heed; his mind was set, and nothing would deter him.

A shrouded cowl hid his face; he was clearly a traveler, but by his red leather armor with gold shoulders and black cape, one would instantly suspect he was connected to some form of nobility. He rode along the road, the hills became steeper as he approached his destination, on the Southeast side of the mountain, which was known all over Tamriel as "The Throat of the World." The air was chill, though the sun glowed strong in the late afternoon. No worry for the rider, for he was descended from the mighty Nords of Skyrim, a hardy people who were well adapted to the cold and chill of the long winters.

Closer and closer, his destination came into view...

"Whoa, boy." His voice was deep, yet soft. The dark horse, Shadowmere was his name, came to slow halt. Removing his cowl, the rider's face could now be seen in fuller detail:

His skin was tan, though had paled over the last while. His cheekbones were high, his jaw was strong, and he had a short, plain nose. His hair was a fair brown, which had been braided back in typical Nord fashion. He had a scar on his left cheek, masked by warpaint which ran down from his left eye to his left cheek in a series of three curving scar-like patterns. And speaking of his eyes, they were without a doubt his most distinguishing feature; the whites had turned black, and his pupils and iris's glowed with an amber-orange hue. It was look of a man who had been witness to inside of Oblivion itself... or had come forth from it.

Where most would see a man, the educated would know that this creature was a walker of the night. He had gone by many names; Night-walker, vampire, Harbinger, Thane, Archmage, Listener, Guildmaster, Snow-razor, Quanahrrin, Wülfbane, Hero...

monster... but his most recognized and famous title was known across Skyrim, and all of Tamriel, as the one who had save Nirn from certain destruction, ended a civil war, and brought peace to the province; **Dragonborn**.

Yes, this was he. It was almost three years ago that he vanquished Alduin, the dragon lord, Son of the God Akatosh. The World-Eater, the one who would bring about the end of times.

Since then he had saved the world from multiple catastrophes; whether it was stopping a power-crazy High Elf from using an ancient magical artifact to destroy an entire College of Mages, and the village it was built on, or preventing a long-dead necromancer-queen from rising again, he had headed the call. His most recent adventure had involved stopping a psychotic vampire-lord from using a divine weapon to blot out the sun at will.

He had done many great deeds... but also committed many crimes.

It was nothing he could deny. He had killed, stolen, and raided many an encampment. Such is the way of making enough Septims to put food on the table. But he had done worse, much worse. And the memories from those days still haunted him.

He recalled when he studied at the Mages College of Winterhold, he went on an expedition to a Dragon wall, to acquire a new Thu'um; an ancient dragon shout, that would grant him new powers in combat. After vanquishing a powerful Lich called a dragon priest some time back, he discovered the dragon priest masks; powerful artifacts that granted it's wearers greater abilities. The place he was going to, Shearpoint, had both.

It was a selfish quest, he knew. He brought along a companion from the College, a Dark Elf mage by the name of Brelyna. She was young, and a bit scatter-brained, but talented. He remembered when they had first met, how indignant she was about other people being prejudiced toward her because of her race. Dark Elves, indeed elves in general, are a very disliked people in Skyrim. The Nords do not trust magic, and the High Aldmeri Dominion, an elven empire consisting of people whose talent was magic, whom had started the Great War with the Empire of Cyrodill, had sealed the deal.

But in time, she had warmed up to him, and the two became good friends. He laughed inside when he recalled when she had tried to test a new spell on him, but had ended up turning him green, and into a horse, a cow, a chicken, and finally a dog. He got back to normal, but both agreed it would be best to never speak of it again.

When they had gotten to Shearpoint, he approached the wall, and had let his guard down. The dragon priest attacked without mercy, and both became hard-pressed to defend themselves. He knew something was wrong the moment her Frost-Antronach dissipated. He pressed on anyway, as he still had a powerful, angry undead wizard to deal with. When he had finally killed the thing, and taken it's mask, he gazed on the horrible fate that had met the young mage; Brelyna was dead.

No matter what he did, he knew he wouldn't be able to bring her back. He felt a tug at his heart as he was taken back to that moment, gently carrying her body to the empty coffin, holding a lone ceremony for her. He got his mask, his Thu'um, but at what price? When he got back, he had been suspended for his actions. It was only through kindness and understanding of the old Alteration teacher, Tolfdir, that he was able to return. For the rest of his days there, he hid his face behind the mask of the dragon priest. Vokun; it is an ancient dragon term for shadow. The title of the mask that would become his face of mourning, as he became a shadow of his former self...

His crimes did not end there. Prior to his final battle with Alduin, he knew he would need to get stronger, get stronger weapons and better armor. On that quest for power, what remained of his morals and innocence would fall. He needed money, and a previous offer from a man from Riften came to bear fruit.

And so, he spent his time in the Thieves Guild, stealing valuable items for a few coins, blackmailing residents of the town, and setting up shills for those who crossed them. Riften was still one of his least favorite places in Skyrim, a close second to Markarth. It's only redeeming feature was a Nord by the name of Mjoll the Lioness. She had values similar to him, and that made going through with what he was about to all the more difficult. He wanted to stay disconnected, but he found himself doing what he was notorious for: making friends. He had developed a grudging respect for Brynjolf, and a deep compassion for Karliah following Mercer Fray's betrayal. He learned to not put faith in others, for they were keen to betray. Things got complicated when he came into contact with the Daedric Prince Nocturnal. She had given him access to new powers and armor, but now he had another Daedra to deal with. But the mission earned him new comrades, new powers, and a whole lot of coin; the Eyes of the Falmer were well worth the effort spent to acquire them.

Darkness, evil, seemed to be drawn to him like a magnet. Before becoming what he was now, he was a werewolf for the Companions. They were honorable, good people, but he became prisoner of the first of many Daedric Princes: Hircine, of the Hunt. He had obtained his "gift" from Aela the Huntress, a devote worshipper of the Demon-God. He had to admit; it was fun. Becoming a powerful animal, hunting, running...killing, he enjoyed it. He made use of this gift to escape Cidhna Mine in Markarth. He unleashed his rage in the form of this beast, and brought fear to his enemies when sword and spell failed. It was fun.

Hircine, he met in person while trying to help someone cursed by Lycanthropy. He had used Hircine's ring to try and control his transformations, but Hircine cursed him, and he was imprisoned. The Dragonborn sought to help him, and in passing a test of the hunt, Hircine spoke to him... and ordered him to kill the man. But he showed strength, and defied him, using his werewolf form to kill the hunters after the man. He lived in peace thereafter. Hircine was not disappointed, but amused in how the Dragonborn managed to turn the tables and hunt the hunters. As a gift, he obtained the true Ring of Hircine. He now had unlimited transformations, were before he could only shift once a day.

He would later defy Vaermina of Nightmares, and Namira of the dead and decaying. But in his quest for power, he succumbed to the wishes of Mehrunes Dagon, Lord of Destruction, and Hermaeus Mora. They granted him powers of knowledge and weapons, but he had to murder to get them. Well, the one anyway. The fact that these creatures could appear from anywhere to get to him disturbed him. None were quite so strange as Sheogorath, however.

The Daedric Prince of Madness. He earned that name well, dragging him into the mind of a dead homicidally insane emperor. He was like Willy Wonka, the Mad Hatter, and Doctor Seuss all rolled up into and evil AntiChrist and put on cocaine. In all honesty, he was amusing, and the Wabbajack...well, it's quite the thing to turn your enemy into a chicken...or a dremora lord that attacks you. It was unpredictable and unreliable, but it could turn the tide in a battle.

And Clavicus Vile... well, he had a talking dog, and he was a bit of a whiny idiot who gave him a mask that made him look like Loki. That's pretty much it.

His adventures took a distinguishably dark turn in Windhelm. All he wanted to do was help a poor orphan, abused and abandoned. Instead, he became an assassin, an Agent of Death for the infamous Dark Brotherhood. It was there he would truly succumb to the evil within. He enjoyed the murders, the outrageous amount of gold he got, and the members themselves. Babette, Arnbjorn, even Astrid. Astrid, though sadistic as she was, deeply cared for the safety of this dysfunctional family, and it showed whenever she spoke. It was for this reason that he felt no anger when he discovered she had formed a plot with the Penitus Oculatus to eliminate him when he was hired to take on the biggest assassination in history since the killing of Uriel Septim III. No, he held no grudge against her. It was one of the first times in which he could truly...forgive someone, for their crimes.

The Dragonborn followed through and made history. He heard it from every guard in Skyrim: "The Emperor of Tamriel, Dead! These are dark times, my friend." He received a hefty sum, and rebuilt the organization, as it's leader. As Listener for the Night Mother. At the end of it all, he still felt hollow...

What weighed most on his mind, though, was the rebellion. He had sided with the Stormcloaks, put his faith in Ulfric, retook the province. Clad in Daedric armor, having slain Alduin, he conquered Solitude. The Imperials seemed all-powerful, until they saw him on Shadowmere, in dark armor... and his winged ally.

Odahviing was a worthy ally. He set fire to the legionaries, and with his help, Skyrim was liberated. Yet he still, felt sorrow. You see, the Dragonborn never wanted to choose a side. He knew the Empire wasn't the true enemy, but he felt that unless they were taught that anything could be accomplished with enough determination, they would fall in line with the Aldmeri dominion. He wanted Skyrim to be the new Hammerfell. To have pushed out the Thalmor and done the impossible. But he saw evidence of misery a plenty. Those people in the Blue Palace, who spat at him and hated him, it pained him to see them like that. He wanted nothing more than to help others, to make them understand their follies, and to bring peace. Everyday it seemed more and more impossible. He knew the High Elves were dangerous, but not all of them! He knew of several in the college, and one in Windhelm, who were decent, honest people. And the Dark Elves didn't deserve any of the foul treatment they were being given! Was Ulfric truly good for Skyrim?

He recalled the sadness of Jarl Elisif, wife of Torygg, the previous High King, who was killed in mortal combat with Ulfric. After the war, he did his best to comfort her, and did numerous services for Solitude, even earning the position of Thane. She warmed up to him, and the two developed an understanding of one another. Still, he knew there was no way to truly right all wrongs, to banish pain and sorrow from the world. It would be so much easier, just to fall, to embrace the shadows of despair...

The Dragonborn walked through the burnt gates, and stood in the place where it all began: Helgen.

It was here that he had nearly died, before his adventures had even begun. Alduin, who looked upon him with the eyes of death. The fire falling from the sky, soldiers, husbands, wives, children... all burnt, all dead. He saw the corpses still there, unhonored, and unburied. This place, once a thriving village, was now little more than a bandit hideout.

"Hey, you!" Several figures stepped forth, armed to the teeth. three were Nords, One was an Orc, and the last was an Imperial; mage by look of her, ice spell ready. The Dragonborn didn't even acknowledge them, but the leader spoke anyway.

"That's right, there's no where to run. Why don't you just give up now, and hand over your loot..."

He stopped mid-sentence as the rider locked eyes with him. Immediately, he felt a chill of fear, unlike any he had ever felt. It was like looking death itself in the face.

He tried to regain composure, "That's enough of that!" He stepped forth, "Now hand over you got or else I'll-"

He was cut off again, quite literally this time. A long, curved blade severed his head from his body, as he tumbled to the ground, blood arching through the air, splashing the face of the killer, and the would-be robbers. If one look closely, they would see red and blue particles seeping out of the corpse, and into the rider.

"Dammit!" The Orc shouted. They all came at once, pure adrenaline driving their actions. To the vampire, it was as if they were moving in slow motion. They had desecrated this sacred place with their ilk, and they would pay the price in blood. Scum like them should know their place.

"Fus...RO DAH!" The powerful Thu'um sent the assailants flying backwards. In the blink of an eye the vampire caught the leg of one with his right hand, the Orc, pulled him in and punched him to the ground with the left fist with such force that his skull was completely smashed like a glass vase; an instant kill. He wasted no time in taking out the others. As the second man got up, the assailant held his body down with one hand, gripped his hair with the other, and in a single brutal show of force, decapitated him. His comrade rushed in, steel greatsword in hand, ready to deliver swift vengeance. The Dragonborn removed Auri-El's Bow, loaded a Sunhallowed arrow, and fired it straight into the heart of the attacker. The force of the exploding magical energy threw him back some several feet, and he was dead.

It was not looking good for the mage. She had just witnessed several of her partners get torn apart by this...this...thing! Like they were rag dolls! He started towards her, but despite her terror, she held her ground. She did not notice the shadow of the beating, bat-like wings behind her. Jaws of death opened and devoured the last of the bandits. A giant, red-scaled dragon with a bluish underbelly and sky-blue eyes perched on the tower of Helgen.

"Drem yol lok. Greetings, Dovahkiin" Odahviing spoke, his voice like rolling thunder.

"Odahviing? Why are you here? I did not call for you."

The Dragon shook his head, in a seeming expression of what could almost be called shame, "Krosis, I apologize if I have interrupted you, but when we last spoke, you seemed...distracted, as if something ate at your mind. I therefore felt it may be wise to follow you, to see what may be burdening you. I did not step in earlier, for you seemed to be handling things well on your own."

The Dragonborn looked away, back to the seen of slaughter and destruction that both the town, and the recent murder.

"I'm fine, Odahviing. I just came here to pay my respects."

"Ah, yes, It was here that you first came to Skyrim, true? And encountered Alduin..."

The fires, the Black Dragon's cruelty, he could see it all plainly as that day replayed itself in his mind...

"...Yes. I remember that day well. It was on that day I returned home. Caught in the midst of an ambush during a war I had no idea about. A bad time to return home, that's what that man had said to me. He was right..."

He walked over to the first house, where he had seen the boy watching him and the other prisoners being drawn in for their deaths. The roof had collapsed, and several burnt bodies lay inside.

"I was powerless to save them. If I had had even a sliver of the power or skill I have now, maybe I could have saved them..."

"Aan Sizaan Hahnu. What is past, is past. It is not wise to dwell in the shadows of despair."

He looked up at the red Dovah. "These people had lives, and they lay here unburied and unmourned! It is disgraceful for them to be as such, and this town to remain a mere bandit hideout! This place should remain sacred and hallowed. I came to bury these souls, and erect a memorial here, as they deserve. You can berate me all you want about how trivial you think this is, but you will waste your breath dragon! I will not be interrupted from this task."

The Dragon reared back slightly, surprised at how passionate the former Joor was about this. Relaxing, he spoke again.

"I meant no offense, Kieran. We dragons honor our fallen in the same manner your kind do, it is no trivial matter to us! I respect and admire your devotion. The Old One expected this, and assigned me a second task should this be the case, and I think it will please you to know that you will not be alone in your task."

He motioned behind the Dragonborn, who turned around to behold quite the sight. His jaw nearly hit the ground.

"You didn't honestly believe we'd let you go through something like this on your own? After all you've done for us, and after all we've been through together?"

Serana stood at the front of a group consisting of everyone from every major faction he had joined. He could pick out Aela, Farkas, Vilkas and Skjor from the Companions; Babette and Nazir from the Dark Brotherhood; Tolfdir, Onmund and J'zargo from the College; He even caught sight of Brynjolf, Vex and Delvin from the Thieves Guild!

And the list didn't end there; Esbern and a rather irritated looking Delphine stood present, and even more astonishing was Ralof and Ulfric Stormcloak himself, with a party of ten soldiers. It was all Kieran could do to keep himself composed.

"You were our shield-brother and greatest leader. No matter what your choices, we will see you through to the end." Skjor pronounced.

"Thanks to you we're back on our feet again," Nazir added.

"And we always watch out for our fellow brothers," Babette Piped.

"Not all battle need to be fought alone. And not all sufferings are exclusive to one person," said Tolfdir.

Brynjolf jumped in, "You needn't burden yourself with such things, lad. We're all here for you, and that's a service that comes free of charge."

"Helgen was indeed a tragedy, worthy of remembrance, even more so now that the World-Eater has been defeated. None can deny that," Esbern spoke.

"As a true Son of Skyrim, and a leader amongst my people, it is as much my duty as it is yours to see that those who died here are honoured in proper Nord tradition," Ulfric concluded.

"A good friend o' mine died 'ere, so it's just as much impor'ant to me as it is to anyone else 'ere." Delvin pitched in.

Serana stepped forth now, till she was just barely away from his face.

"You taught me what it was like to have a true friend in this world. Despite what I was, despite not knowing anything about me, you still stood with me, and helped me through the bitterness of my life. Now it's time I repaid the favour, and helped you through this."

* * *

And so, the day was spent clearing the rubble, collecting the bodies, and with a little know-how from Delvin, each person's name, birthplace, and their family connections came to light. In the center of the town, where the executioner's block had been, the ground had been unearthed for a collective burial of multiple coffins. Just in front of the tower, an alter with the idols of each of the Nine Divines had been erected. Ulfric, Tolfdir and Esbern, had each stepped up to lead portion's of the ceremony. Finally, the Dragonborn stepped up to speak.

"My friends, my comrades, my family. Before I was known as the Hero of Skyrim, before I met any of you, and earned my place among mages, warriors, thieves and assassins alike, before I discovered who I was, I was simply Kieran the Wolfhunter. Wülfbane as my villagers called me, a title earned when I slayed a particularly large wolf that had raided our livestock, when I was a mere lad of ten. I lived in the province of Cyrodiil at the time, in a small village a few hundred miles from the Northern Border. An orphan, living with an Uncle I barely knew, but taught me everything I would need to survive.

"I came to Skyrim to learn about my heritage, and find some clue as to who I was, and to make my way here. It was then I was caught up in an ambush, and found Skyrim in war of brothers that had deeply scarred this land..." He paused, and looked to Ralof and the Stormcloaks.

"It would also be the start of long line of good friends I would meet along the way." Ralof nodded his head in acknowledgement, and smiled.

"It was at Helgen, that I nearly faced death at the hands of the Imperials. Though I held them no ill will, even afterwards. I understand that in times of war, trust is often the first casualty." He resisted the urge to send Ulfric or Delphine a glance.

"It has been three years since that day. Exactly. On this day, Alduin returned. On this day, I started the road to becoming the man I am now. It was the start of the friends I would meet, the joys I would share...and the tragedies that would follow, and the harsh choices I would have to make." He steeled himself, tears threatening to break his image.

"...On this day, countless innocent lives; men, women and children, were burned and devoured by the World-Eater. Countless more souls, Nord, Imperial, Breton, Elven, Argonian, Khajiit, indeed people of every race and culture, would perish from this creature's gluttony for power and dominion. It is my solemn wish, that I would have been able to save more of them..." His voice became more wobbly as a single tear began to fall.

"...But they are gone now. And I can do nothing to restore them. I can do nothing to ease the pain of those they have left behind. I cannot perform that which only Gods are capable. So, it is with great sadness, and a somber heart, that I hold this memorial. Not just as a memorial to those who died here, but indeed everyone, who ever fought and died for what they believed in. Everyone who suffered, or was oppressed by tyranny EVERYONE! Who died at the claws of evil! The fangs of injustice! To me, it matters not who you are, or where you came from. I care not what Gods you choose to worship, Aedra or Daedra... What I care about, and have always hoped to stand for, is for a free Skyrim, a land where the strong and the brave may find honor, glory, and kinship among his fellows. A land that when face with tyranny and enslavement, does not go quietly into the night! A land in which if you have been knocked down and you can't get back up you can count on someone to lift you up! A land where even in the darkest of places, or amongst the shadiest of characters you may find someone you can count on, people who will stand at your side! No matter who you are, no matter what you are!

"And so, my friends, of all races and peoples, all you _true_ Sons and Daughters of Skyrim, for Skyrim took you in, and you brought to it all the hopes and dreams of Tamriel, I thank you. I thank you for building me into what I am, for teaching me your stories, for standing by me when I was alone. I thank you for helping me do the impossible time after time! And I thank you being here with me today, where it all began, to honor _all_ of those, who stood for something they believed in, who were killed unjustly, who earned their place in history... and who may never be heard of save for their families... Thank you, all."

A round of applause and cheering erupted from the audience, and more than a few had tears coming from their eyes. Even Ulfric was doing his best to keep his face strong while the tears slid past his cheeks.

Speaking out for the final time, the Dragonborn concluded his speech."Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family...Please join me in remembering these fallen...Pray for them. Pray for the fallen, and always... _Remember Helgen_."

"REMEMBER HELGEN!" All cheered.

One by one, each laid a candle, for someone they knew, and for someone they would never know. They all joined in prayers both silent and sung, and held a moment of silence. The sun set, and the stars shone brightly, and an Aurora was present in the sky, as if the Gods themselves had come in attendance.

The party left the stone alter with it's many candles glowing in the night. They each got on their horses, and rode off to the nearest town, Riverwood, for a night of hard drinking and heavy sleeping. The members from various sides were surprisingly quick to start up small talk, which would continue into the night.

Serana rode up beside Kieran, her eyes locked with his. A small smile crept onto his face.

"Thank you for your help. I needed this. Now I will have the peace of mind of knowing that they can rest in peace."

Serana smiled back, "I told you, we're here for you whenever you need us. I am here, whenever you need me."

He couldn't help but blush slightly, but he kept eye contact.

"How does it feel, now that this is over?"

He sighed, "It feels like a heavy weight has been taken off my shoulders. Like a breath of fresh air on a cool summer's night."

"Well I certainly 'ope so," Delvin interjected, "I've 'ad about enough of all this teary-eyed nonsense."

"Says the crybaby who started balling midway into the Guildmaster's speech!" snorted Vex.

"'Ey! I thought we was keepin' that private!"

"A little late for that, friend," Vilkas called back, "It was kind of a public ceremony!"

"Now, now, children," Babette interjected, "It's perfectly okay to cry a little at a funeral service. It's healthy, and a good way to vent out stres, and it's nothing to be ashamed about."

"Don't know how I feel about getting lectured by a twelve-year-old girl," Farkas mumbled.

"I heard that, and I'm three-hundred-and-twelve, actually."

"Well, I for one feel this was a rejuvenating experience. Like you said, Archmage, a breath of fresh air!" Tolfdir replied.

"Indeed," said Ulfric, "But now that it's over, I think it best we end this night on a merry note; the first round is on me, comrades."

This earned a collective "huzzah!" from the odd group. As Kieran Wülfbane rode onward, he smiled to himself. For the first time in many years, he felt as though he were right at home...

_HELGEN MEMORIAL SITE_

_In memory of those who perished at the Helgen tragedy, and who died for the hopes and dreams of all peoples, WE WILL NEVER FORGET YOU._

_REMEMBER HELGEN, ALWAYS AND FOREVER._

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**_Authors Note: HOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYY YY CRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAP! This was one emotional write! First Skyrim story I ever have done, and the first in a series of shorts involving my Dragonborn. Skyrim is a goldmine of inspiration, because it's YOUR story no matter what happens! I had the idea of this for a while, and I finally got the motivation to put it on cyber-paper!_**

**_That's always my problem: All the ideas, none of the motivation. MEH :/_**

**_So, to adress some things that I'm 99% sure people are gonna complain about, number 1 being the Vamp fight. My intention was not to make my character look like a God, but rather, from watching things like Dracula, Hellsing, and even R+V it's common knowledge that Vampires are strong enough to pull humans to pieces, so I figured it would fit for the story. Second, I know it seems unlikely if not downright impossible that all the factions would be grouped together as they are, but they are. WHY? BECAUSE I'M THE FUCK-MOTHERING DRAGONBORN THAT'S WHY! In all seriousness my character is the kind who helps people and can find the good in anyone. He's very good at making friends, and making his friends make friends with is other friends. Were Skyrim real and human interactions more possible, this would have happened. And hell, it's fanfiction, I can do whatever the hell I want._**

**_Anyways, thanks for reading, and have a good one!_**


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